Nearly time
by SaidbhinLuch
Summary: Molly has had a lot to deal with in that two year interim, and even as Sherlock's exile draws to a close, he still manages to put her in tricky situations. Boy, she was going to need a drink.


Molly knew that helping Sherlock would have its downsides, what with the lying, the aiding and abetting, and having him taking over her flat every so often.

However she had not agreed to the random 'far too polite to be referred to as kidnappings' abductions by Mycroft Holmes.

Over a period of two years, she'd had been aggressively and yet somehow, politely escorted to a variety of black limos and sat opposite the elder Holmes brother.

Molly never said much to him, mostly because Sherlock asked her to keep it very brief but Mycroft never managed to address her by her title. A tad spiteful, but for a proper English gentleman, it was a very pointed illustration as to his opinion about her.

Or his lack thereof, even after she saved his brother from the mess he in fact created.

He'd watch her as carefully as Sherlock, but lacking a certain element in his eye, his face permanently etched in slight wariness.

Anthea, or whatever her actual name was, seemed almost sympathetic as she glanced over the glow of her phone screen. Molly typically stared out the window of the car and did her absolute best to act nonchalant.

Which was quite hard to manage as Mycroft's piercing stare made Molly long to scratch his eyes out.

The only thing she ever said to him was to ask what exactly his job was.

Molly had yet to get an answer, and Molly was nothing if not stubborn about things. If her relationship with Sherlock Homes was anything to go by, that is.

Most would probably say that it wasn't stubbornness, but her feelings clouding her vision.

Idiots. She smiled to herself at the dismissive, irritated voice that was a shade away from Sherlock's own curt one echoed in her mind.

'Here will do.' She spoke politely to Anthea, fixing her scarf and taking a deep steadying breath as the car slowed to a halt.

'Miss Hooper.' Mycroft leaned forward, adjusting his umbrella and she simply smiled tightly and shut the door, exhaling loudly as she walked away. She plodded along the footpath trying to sort out her thoughts, not even looking where she was going. As she stumbled over something that crinkled loudly, Molly paused and blinked down at the ground suddenly welling up.

Flowers, posters, deerstalkers and letters lay by the gate, crammed between the bars and balanced on top of it. Tokens of appreciation, love and faith in the man believed to be gone.

She leaned down, picked up the flowers and tried to smooth out the dents she'd accidently caused. Molly walked back and forth, examining each little message, each declaration and instantly felt her bad mood melt away.

'It's still amazing isn't it?' Molly turned her head slightly, arching her eyebrows as Greg slowly walked over to her, hands held behind his back.

'It's stunning. Of course he'd just scoff at it.' She kneeled down and picked up a small otter that had been kicked over. Greg simply chuckled, as she righted the little purple scarf and smoothed down the fur. He stepped forward and hung up a deerstalker on the fence, with a rather artfully embroidered "I believe" in the right earflap.

'What didn't he scoff at?'

'Billy.' Greg stopped, leaned forward and stared Molly in the face with an expression that she'd only ever seen him give Sherlock. In his many moments of sheer exasperation at the bewildering man.

'Who the heck is Billy?'

'The skull.' Molly continued to play with the little otters scarf, wondering why someone would leave it here.

'The skull is called Billy?'

'Yes.'

'Billy the skull?' Molly looked at him curiously, the man looked as though the very fabric of his world had been torn from under him.

'Yes.'

'Did you name the skull Billy?' _Grasping at straws are we Detective_, she thought in some degree of amusement.

'No Sherlock did.'

'Was he called Billy... wait he what?'

'Sherlock in one of his "madder" moments, named the skull Billy. No idea why.' Molly lifted up the otter and inspected it closely.

'You mean when he was...' Greg trailed off, making a vague gesture upwards and raised his eyebrows.

'He hated hedging.' Molly turned over the scarf to see a small smiley face drawn on the other side and her eyes widened, glancing quickly at Greg, before trying to hide what she had seen carefully.

'Fine when he was as high as hell then.' Molly had to laugh at the put out snappish response that was shot at her.

'Yes, and he'd appreciate the honesty.' She continued to giggled, nearly dropping the little guy clutched in her hand. Gregs' brow furrowed down at her and she tried to take a stilling breath as calmly and as inconspicuously as possible.

'Sometimes, it's like he's still alive.' Molly didn't have to look at him to know that he was thinking "To you" at her.

'I guess if you wish for something hard enough, you might just grow to believe it.' He smiled gently at her, a smile she had grown used to in the past three years. He held his hand out for the little otter still in her hand, and she gave it to him almost reluctantly. He looked at it closely and Molly had to hold her breath, praying that he did not move the scarf.

He stepped up towards the door of 221B and placed it up on the ledge and her head dropped.

'Almost two years.' Greg traced the B of the door, wonderingly and glanced back at her, as she raised her head and tried to smile.

'Feels like a lifetime.' A figure to her right caught her attention, and her pager went off. Molly shook her head at Greg reaching down and looking at the display of it. She had to thank her lucky stars that she wore her hair down, as it block her face from view as she felt her stomach drop out of her.

'Looks like I have to go. I'll see you tomorrow?' Greg nodded, as she turned and hurried up the street, trying to control herself. Which of course flew out the window as a hand wrapped itself around her wrist and dragged her down into one of the side streets.

Molly spun round and punched the grabbing force as hard as she could.

'MOLLY!' She gapped as Sherlock staggered away from her, holding a rather bloodied nose. Her hand throbbed with pain, and she grabbed her chest in shock.

'Sorry.' She winced and rummaged in her bag for a few tissues, which he took looking somewhat pleased with her.

'I'm glad to see you can defend yourself.' Even with a bloodied nose and rather tattered appearance, he still managed to look refined and dignified.

'Someone needed to, I suppose. Oh sit down and let me have a look.' Sherlock gave her his patented _Moll-y_ look but she simply pushed him down on one of the low window ledges.

She tilted his face back and forth, ignoring the fact that he was glaring at her.

'It's most likely a hairline fracture of the nasal bone above the lateral nasal cartilage.'

Molly huffed and shook her head at him, hands placed on her hips.

'I know. I am actually a Doctor remember.' She reached over and as he opened his mouth to retort she popped his nose back into alignment. It was oddly satisfying hearing him yelp loudly, followed what, she would swear to her dying breath, was a muffled curse.

'I remember. Unlike my brother. Interfering as ever I take it?'He winced and twitched his mouth, gingerly holding a hand to his nose. Molly stepped back and looked around to make sure that Greg hadn't come her way.

'Naturally. Seems to be a Holmes trait.' She stepped to the side of him and carefully watched the street.

'We're in London, no one notices these things.' Sherlock stood up, effectively blocking her view of the busy street. She watched his face flicker uncertainly and his jaw clench in anxiety.

'They should. Why are you here? Especially now?'

'It's nearly time.' Molly choked loudly feeling her eyes just about bug out of her head and Sherlock patted her on the back. Well, he attempted to, she felt a vague couple of taps on her back and then he coughed slightly.

She sat down heavily on the ledge next to Sherlock, her stomach dropping out of her once more.

'My timing has never been the best, I see now.'

'God I need a drink.'

'Let's go.'

'If anyone asks, you're Steve remember?' He nodded, grabbing her hand and yanking her up onto her feet. He sighed nodding slowly and picked up the bag that she had apparently dropped without noticing.

* * *

'Well that was irritating.' Sherlock huffed, wearing a dark green dressing gown, how did that even get there? she wondered, tossing himself onto her couch. Molly herself was curled up in her favourite armchair in her favourite massive jumper and not much else.

'Not my fault who wanted to see if you could out-do Moriarty "being gay".'

'Your friend believed me though.' He looked at her as though the conversation was over and she just rolled her eyes taking a sip of tea.

'Mary always was a tad gullible.' She shrugged, grabbing a few biscuits and watching him retreat into his mind palace.

'Hm.'

'John likes her.' Molly added slyly, slurping her tea loudly, watching as his eyes popped open and narrowed at her. She simply shrugged, lifting her cup and toasting him jokingly.

Sherlock remained silent, but he was watching her carefully and knew he was now fuming.

'I've known her for years. She's a good person, funny, smart. Sometimes she reminds me of you, she's ahhh direct.' Molly yawned, standing in the kitchen, ruffling her hair, waiting for the kettle to boil.

'You mean blunt.' She jumped as Sherlock loomed over her reaching and she huffed irritably.

'No I mean insensitively blunt. It's how I manage to put up with you. I've had plenty of practice.'

'I prefer to think of it of honesty.'

She just looked up at him, face set in complete disbelief and turned back around trying to find the teabags.

'You moved my stuff. Why is it every time you pop by everything in my house goes mental?'

'Your system makes no sense.' He leaned over her and took the teabags from the topmost cupboard. He dropped one teabag in her cup and put down the sugar next to the cup, along with fetching the milk.

'This is my house therefore we will use my system. Now fix it.' She poked him in the chest once, and gestured with her left hand upwards, indicating her kitchen as she made her tea.

'Is that why you are forgoing trousers?'

'Forget my pants, and fix the kitchen Sherlock.'

As she sat back down, she really had to marvel at how things had changed in the past three years. While she had gained confidence, she was now a liar, nothing more really. She, simple Molly Hooper had fooled the world.

And no one suspected a thing.

Well, actually, she used to catch John looking at her wonderingly, as though considering the possibility that she may have been involved.

That look that dwindled in recent months, ever since Mary had coming flying back into her life, and had crashed landed into Johns.

A fact that Molly had only just gotten to telling Sherlock about, and she hadn't even mentioned her role in said connection. He probably knew, though, knowing him the way she did.

She looked round to see him glaring at Toby, who was playing determinedly with the tie on his dressing gown. Molly, as subtly as she could, reached for her phone, but stopped as Sherlock addressed her.

'Don't.'

'What?' Molly attempted to look as innocent as possible, fingers hovering over her phone as he stared at her.

'You are as innocent as I am, Molly Hooper.'

'Guilty.' Molly grinned as her phone clicked loudly and tried not to giggle at the image. She turned around in her seat, so she was facing him, arms dangling down the back of the seat as she watched him rearrange her cutlery neatly.

'Though I do have to ask... why the otter?'

'I was once informed that I bear a remarkable similarity to one.' He refused to look at her, continuing to gaze at her variety of mugs.

'Who told you this?'

'A girl involved in one of our cases.'

'And you'd thought I'd get it?

'You did. As I knew you would. I saw you inspect the otter carefully.'

'It was adorable! Was the smiley face really necessary? What if Greg has seen it?'

'Lestrade was not going to. Only you.' The matter of fact way he spoken, as though daring her to challenge his opinion, confounded her to no end.

'How can you be so sure?'

'I know you.'

And with that he strode out of the room, Toby insisting on chasing him, leaving Molly speechless in their wake.

She was going to need a massive drink.

* * *

And a massive drink she did have, she was now sprawled on the couch, bare legs dangling in every direction, glass of wine in one hand. Sherlock was tapping away at her laptop and thinking deeply, ignoring her merry little buzz.

Along with her humming, right foot bouncing to the song in her head, watching a Doctor Who repeat on the telly.

Sherlock shut the laptop slowly, steepling his hands under his nose and staring into the middle distance.

'Am I less of a person Molly?' She nearly dropped the glass, leg kicking Toby who yowled, glared at his owner and darted out of the room. Both Molly and Sherlock watched the cat, then looked at each other, not entirely sure what to think of that moment.

'Ahhhh... Sorry?' She sat up, leaning towards Sherlock as he got up and stood by the window, looking forlorn.

'You've seen the aftermath of what I've done. Am I less then what I was before?' Molly watched as he tried to conceal the slight waver in his voice, the tremble of his lip and felt her eyes well up. She stood up, tugging her jumper and now had the fleeting thought that she ought to be wearing pants for such a moment, and gently placed a hand on his bicep.

It was a testament to his state, as to how he barely reacted to the light touch, Sherlock wasn't really one for human contact.

'You are who you've always been. Brilliant and brave, Sherlock. You simply did what you needed to do to save those you love. Do you know how rare that is? Most aspire to be like that? But to go to those lengths...?' He turned his head down towards her and examined her closely, but not critically. She felt one tear slip down her face and hugged him, trying to get him to believe her.

Sherlock, not really the hugging type, simply stood for a moment, hands hovering in the air, as hers looped up, under his arms and towards his shoulders. He then, in quite an uncharacteristic display, hesitantly placed them around her, patting her back awkwardly.

'The neighbours will talk.' Molly giggled, burrowing her head into his chest instinctively.

'Isn't that what people do?' She pulled back slightly and looked down at the darkened street, watching the people go by. She leaned over to get a better look at one person who seemed to be staring up at her window. He chuckled, and mirrored her movements as she peered closer, trying to get a better view of the guy.

'He certainly seems to be interested...'

'If you blame this on my lack of pants...' Molly twitched an eyebrow and resisted the temptation to open the window and lean out.

'I would never be so foolish. Is that Anderson?' Her jaw dropped in surprise and then jumped and turned shoving Sherlock away from the window, panicked.

'Oh... away away!' Molly in her haste, shoved him over her work bag so he landed on the couch. She winced, shot him an apologetic look and closed the curtains. She leaned up against them and took a breath, trying to slow her heart rate.

'He was not going to recognise me.' Sherlock gave her an exasperated look and gestured up at his hair, shaking his head.

'I know you look different, but he might start asking questions. There are somethings' you can't change, like your build, height... cheekbones... If he starts asking who I know who resembles you, people will get curious. "Steve" was heading back to Cardiff remember?'

'Oh.' Molly pulled her hair into a rough bun and shook her head again, pinching the bridge of her nose. Even though she wasn't looking at him, she could feel the smirk radiating off the man now sprawled on her couch.

'What?' Even as she asked, Molly knew that she was not going to like the answer. She looked at him, and he grinned knowingly at her. Molly grabbed her wine, sitting down and taking a large gulp.

'You're just happy you got to screw with him aren't you?'

'Even from the grave, Sherlock Holmes can beat Eric Anderson.'

'Oh dear god.'

* * *

**Yes I am in a total Sherlock kick right now. Blame the BBC and all their loveliness of the past few weeks.**

**This is also a present for my dear darling friend the8thdoctorstoleme on tumblr. If you like Doctor Who and a whole host of other fandom related things I suggest you check her blog out! You feel better soon Missy!**

**Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy this, it sure was fun to write it!**


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